Of Spies and Picnics
by MusicalChick13
Summary: Face to face with a naked Mata Hari is definitely NOT how he wanted to spend his first major adventure as a married man. Spoilers for Pond Life.


**A/N: In the ever-immortal words of Sherlock, all of this kind of just…happened.**

What had he ever done to deserve this?

Really? What had he done?

All he'd wanted was a chance to travel the world, meet some interesting people, maybe discreetly slip his name into a couple more history books.

Instead he was stuck in a hotel room in Paris with an (admittedly attractive) infamous spy stripping herself in front of him.

_Why do all these women keep throwing themselves at him?_

He doesn't have the energy or presence of mind to do this right now. But he has no idea how to get rid of her. The last time an attractive woman tried to sleep with him, he simply pushed her off and took her on a date with her fiancée in 16th century Venice.

…Somehow, he didn't think that would work in this particular circumstance.

He'd always been curious about Mata Hari, the woman so in control of herself that she had managed to turn the political, militaristic, and romantic world on its ear.

But this was _not_ how he'd wanted to meet her.

He merely stares at her, completely unsure of what to say or do. It's clear what she wants. And what she wants is most definitely _not_ what he wants.

But how do you tell a dangerous, naked female spy that you don't want to…well, that thing that humans always insist on doing for fun?

"Are you going to just sit there gaping like an idiot, or am I going to have to wipe that look off your face myself?" she asks.

"I-er…" he trails off. _He's normally so good at dealing with crises_.

She starts sauntering toward him, a slink in her steps, a predatory smirk on her face, and a measured swivel of her hips, perfected over years of exotic dancing. The Doctor desperately tries to think of an acceptable reason why she should leave. And put some clothes on.

Soon, she is kneeling right in front of him, her fingers fiddling delicately with his bowtie, the same one he wore during his wedding...

_And there it is_.

"Er, I'm sorry to have to break this to you, but, I'm kind of…married."

She pauses, stands up, and peers down at him with a penetrating gaze. He closes his eyes to avoid the various parts of her anatomy that are now directly in front of his face. "I don't see that this makes a difference," she replies icily.

Eyes opening and fixing firmly on hers, he, miraculously, manages to draw strength from somewhere and reply in an even voice, "Actually, I rather think it does."

The woman's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "I think you'll find that some time with me will make you feel otherwise."

"And I'm pretty sure my wife will kill you if she ever finds out."

"Who says she ever has to know?" the grin on her face is nearing psychopathic proportions.

"She doesn't. Because there won't be anything _to_ know."

Mata Hari backs up a couple of steps, each one more graceful than the last. "You really care for this woman, then." It was a statement, not a question.

The Doctor gives her a penetrating look that conveys so much more than mere words ever would.

"Tell me," she starts, her voice equal parts steel and silk, "What is it about this woman that makes you so devoted to her?"

An impish grin creeps onto his face and both tame and extremely explicit memories flood his consciousness. "I'm not so sure you want to know the complete answer to that."

"Try me."

"Well, she can take out a single room full of creatures that make you forget you exist all by herself with a single gun. She forms elaborate plans that involve carefully placed notes and jumping off of buildings whenever she's in trouble. She's smart enough to outmaneuver me to the point of tricking me into exposing myself to the poison of the Judas tree-particularly nasty toxin, by the way, definitely wouldn't recommend it-and stubborn enough to break the essence of time itself to do what she thinks is right, however misguided. She's also catalogued a hundred and thirty seven different ways to use handcuffs, makes the simply act of sweeping the floor into the most…stimulating thing in the entire world, and has successfully managed to do what you've been…planning…to do…with me…in public places in twenty-three different countries without ever getting caught or seen by anyone."

_Okay, maybe the last part was verging on over-sharing. But it's all River's fault for being so damn good at it._

Mata Hari gives him a wide eyed gaze, whispering with no small degree of alarm, "You're a madman."

"Very perceptive. Well, in any case, best be going." And he picks up his jacket and starts for the door, toasting fork still in his hand.

"All…right," she responds, not bothering to move to block his path as he shoulders his way around her toward the exit.

_Guess murder attempts, borderline suicidal behavior, bondage, and covert…intimacy in public places being the basis for an actual marriage is a bit too much, even for Mata Hari._

* * *

He goes into the foyer of the lobby after thoroughly scanning the hotel for any signs of alien life forms or crazy atmospheric disturbances (because those tend to follow him wherever he goes) and spots a familiar head of untamed, curly blonde hair peeking around one of the stiff mahogany chairs, buried in a history book.

He is momentarily taken aback.

_What was she doing here? Not that he was complaining…_

She looks up from the book when he passes in front of her, and her eyes immediately gain that sparkle he loves so much. "Hello, Sweetie."

"And what are you doing here, Doctor Song?"

She smirks, and the Doctor can feel his temperature rise pleasantly a few notches. "I got a note." She waves a card with coordinates on it in front of his nose, signed at the bottom with "Eleven Guesses Who, and the First Ten Don't Count."

_Why would he ask her to come __**here**__?_

"I have to say, putting me in the next room-with very thin walls, I might add-while another woman tries to seduce you might not have been your smartest move, Sweetie." She doesn't sound mad; more amused by the situation, merely doing that cocking thing with her eyebrow that he can't ever do no matter how hard he tries.

_He didn't._

Was future him _beyond_ stupid? Why would he ever do something like that?

"I-"

"I have to say, though, you made your point very clearly."

"What point?"

She does the eyebrow thing again. _Someone's eyebrows should __**not**__ be that attractive_. "Spoilers."

He hates her, sometimes.

"No, you don't," she replies, her nose buried back in her book.

_Great, now he was thinking out loud without even realizing it_. _He does that a lot when she's around._

_It was all River's fault…somehow…_

He takes the chair across from her, not sure of what to say, considering that he has no clue what's going on.

"Are you just going to sit there, staring at me while I read, or are you actually going to make an effort to spend time with your wife?" Her eyes are still glued to the page she's on.

"I'm trying to determine why I would do something so deliberately asinine."

"That is rather your preferred method of operation, my love."

"Okay, I'm going to ignore that."

"Go ahead."

"…Can't you at least give me a _hint_ as to what I was trying to prove by inviting you here?"

She finally looks up from the page, dog-earing the corner and closing it shut. "I'm sure I _can_, but I'd really rather _not_."

"River…"

"Your rules."

He closes his eyes and huffs in frustration.

"However, I do appreciate that you had enough common sense to tell her you were married. Although I never imagined _you_ of all people would be the one to be so frank about your personal life."

"Well, what else was I supposed to do? Say _yes_?"

Something dark and unfathomable passes across River's face for an instant before she says, in an uncharacteristically subdued voice, "I know a lot of people who would have."

"I should hope you don't consider me to be 'a lot of people.' "

She allows herself a small smile. "Never."

"And, since you've been so…_good_," the word is positively _dripping_ with her trademark overt sensuality, "today, I think a proper reunion is well in order."

"I'm afraid there's not much to do at this time of night-"

She cuts him off with a fiery smirk, the sparkle in her eyes dancing.

"Oh."

"You mentioned a hundred and thirty seven different ways to use handcuffs. What say we take a shot at number ninety-eight?"

"Doctor Song, I think that's an excellent idea. After all, ninety-eight is a rather wonderful number. Possibly the greatest number in existence…next to eleven, of course."

"Honey, you might want to stop talking."

And he does.

_Leave it to him to find the one woman in the universe who can make him shut up without question._

But he more than makes up for it when they reach his room and he makes her prove just how much of a screamer she really is.

* * *

He's just dropped Amy and Rory off after the whole incident at Mercy. He needs a day or two to clear his head. Or twenty.

A set of coordinates pop up on his screen, signed with a kiss, and he perks up. Nothing like quality time with the wife to elevate his spirits.

He lands the TARDIS in what turns out to be a simple park on a planet terraformed to look like Earth.

He walks up to the figure of his wife in the near distance. "River Song. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"A girl can't just want to see her husband?"

"Spoilers."

"You've already done the whole faking your death thing."

"And how do you know?"

"New bowtie." Her eyes flick down to his chosen accessory, made out of the softest material in the universe and dyed a color so far off the human color spectrum that to anyone who didn't have Time-Lord DNA wouldn't be able to register it as anything other than black. "Christmas present from me, against my better judgment. God knows why I let you wear those infernal things."

He smiles, and she leans up to kiss him.

"So…a park? Seems a little bit boring for you."

"I endeavor to keep things interesting. Are you hungry?" she holds up a picnic basket.

"I could, theoretically, eat."

"Excellent."

* * *

For human dishes that weren't fish fingers and custard, the food was rather delicious.

"I'll be right back," River remarked, getting up and smoothing down the front of her dress. "I'm going to go find a bin to put these paper plates in."

The Doctor merely nodded, not breaking his concentration from his task of making shapes out of the clouds.

All of a sudden, he hears a female voice above him. One that is distinctly _not_ River's. "Alone on a beautiful day like this?"

He squints up and sees a girl, probably about twenty-five, with chestnut brown hair that falls past her shoulders, a strikingly white smile, and eyes of the most brilliant shade of green he's ever seen.

"Not quite, but there's always room for one more." The young woman's smile widens, and she moves to sit next to him on the picnic blanket.

She notices him watching the clouds. "What do you see?"

"Well, that one over there looks like a cocker spaniel, and the one next to it looks like the great rock formation on Atoxxix."

"I've never heard of that."

"Most people haven't."

"So, do you travel a lot, then?"

He grins. "You could say that."

"I've always wanted to travel, see the world. But I just never had the time."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Well, I've always wanted to go to Madagascar."

"Oh! Madagascar! Lovely place, can't recommend it enough, though I wouldn't advise going in the invisible cave system."

"The what?"

_Oh, right. That hasn't been discovered yet._

"Er, nothing. Just an urban legend. Inside joke."

The woman shrugs. "So tell me about some of the places you've been."

And he does. She listens intently, hanging on his every word and absorbing information like those Kazam-wows or whatever it is they're called.

He develops a comfortable rapport with the woman, and before long, she's bowled over, laughing into his shoulder as he relates a mishap in Canada involving a pencil sharpener conspiracy. (Though she does have a rather annoying habit of flipping her hair behind her right shoulder. And she laughs so loudly at his jokes he suspects she might be faking it.) He even agrees to take her phone number in order to provide her with information on travel agencies.

Of course, River picks _that_ particular moment to come back from her bin-hunting.

"Having fun?" she asks.

"Oh! Right, sorry, River, this is-"

"Andrea," the woman replies, sticking out her hand.

River eyes the woman curiously and shakes the hand offered to her.

"I was just telling Andrea about that Canadian pencil-sharpening conspiracy. She refuses to believe me."

"I'm afraid it was quite real, dear."

"You mean you were there with him?" Andrea asks. "He didn't mention travelling with anyone."

A flicker of annoyance, which of course goes unnoticed by the ever-oblivious Doctor, glides over River's face before she shoots Andrea a saccharine smile and replies, "Yes I most certainly was," in a tone of voice with the _slightest_ hint of venom.

River reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a handkerchief and holds it out to the Doctor. "Sweetie, you have a little-"

"I'll get it," Andrea interrupts, a mischievous smile dancing at the corners of her mouth matched by an equally mischievous glint in her eyes. And she licks her thumb and trails it across the Doctor's cheek to get rid of the offending crumbs.

Outwardly, River stays exactly the same. But the negative energy she is mentally shooting towards Andrea is practically palpable.

Andrea looks at her watch. "Well, I should probably be going. I have dinner with a friend." She sweeps a lingering gaze over the Doctor. "I have to admit, when you said you weren't alone, I got a little worried. But I see now that there wasn't any reason for me to be." She gives him a kiss on the cheek and says, "Call me," with a flirty smile and a waggle of her eyebrows before turning and walking away.

At this point, River can barely maintain her composure.

"What a nice girl…" the Doctor muses. "I really _should_ give her a call sometime."

And that does it. "Doctor," she strains through gritted teeth, "She was trying to _start a romantic relationship with you_."

He looks stunned. "No she wasn't."

"Yes she was!"

"We were just talking!"

"She gave you her number, initiated surprisingly intimate contact with you for being a complete stranger, and said she was glad that it was me you were with because I'm obviously too old for you."

"She did _not_ say that."

"Maybe not directly."

"She was merely expressing her satisfaction that you weren't someone to be afraid of."

"Doctor, she was trying to say that I'm too physically old to pose any kind of romantic threat to her."

"…Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"Well, I don't think you're old."

"Of course you don't, you're over 1100 years old. Anyone under the age of 600 is young to you."

"Well, then, you shouldn't worry about younger women coming along because the age gap isn't really all that wide in the scheme of things."

"So, that's the best defense you have-that you're so much older than me that twenty some-odd years difference isn't really all that big?"

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

" 'I'm not interested in her and she shouldn't have made rude comments about your apparent age' would be a good start."

"But I am interested. She's a very interesting person. And I'm sure she wasn't trying to be rude."

"I mean interested _romantically_!"

"Oh, well, no, of course not."

"But you still think I'm unattractive."

"I never said that."

"You didn't say anything to the opposite effect."

"River, I don't understand! What do you _want_?!"

"…You really are that clueless, aren't you?" And, for a moment, the scared, broken little girl in the astronaut suit comes back.

The Doctor just stares silently.

"Ugh! You're impossible! Sometimes I wonder if you ever want me at all!"

Her eyes widen and she takes an involuntary step backwards, obviously embarrassed by this admission.

"River…"

"No, don't say anything. I know that I'll never be what you need, Doctor, and I know that no matter what I do, I'll never deserve you."

"That is a complete load of utter nonsense."

"Sure, _now_ you say that."

"Well, would you rather I have told you you were right?!"

"If it means you would finally be honest with me, then yes!"

"I'm being honest with you _now_!"

She crouches down and begins folding up the blanket. "It's hardly honesty if you're just telling me what you know I want to hear."

"Why do you have to be so _stubborn _all the time!"

"Why do you have to be so oblivious?"

"That's just the way I am, I can't help it."

"Well, neither can I!"

She continues folding in silence. "I think we're done here." She whispers it so softly the Doctor wonders if he actually heard it at all.

"River…"

"Just. Go. Please."

He exhales, slowly. "Fine." And then he turns around and heads back to the TARDIS.

_He had to find a way to fix this. He had to find a way to prove that he really wasn't interested in pursuing any type of romantic relationship with someone else. _

_But how was he supposed to…?_

_Oh. OH. _

He pulls out the card he'd sent to River with the Paris hotel coordinates where he'd met Mata Hari, a little souvenir of their…adventures there.

_"You proved your point."_

Maybe future him wasn't so stupid after all.

* * *

He drops by her cell a few days later.

"Did I redeem myself?"

She smiles, a real, pure, genuine smile. "In more ways than one, Sweetie."

"Good. What do you say to a Saturnalia celebration on Genialle Six? I promise to make sure none of them get away with calling you old."

She chuckles throatily. "You do occasionally have some brilliant ideas, my dear."

"Only occasionally?"

"Do you think your ego could take me conceding any more than that?"

"Hey!"

She smiles up at him, and he knows that he can't get too bothered because this is just her way of showing her love.

*sigh* This infuriatingly magnificent woman. She was going to be the end of him.

"Already tried that, Sweetie. Didn't exactly stick."

_Damn. Thinking out loud again._

"You might want to work on that whole thinking-out-loud thing. Not exactly a good habit to have when you're trying to keep an escape plan a secret."

"And this is why I married her."

"Are you really that incapable of keeping your thoughts to yourself when you're around me?"

He smiles archly. "I did actually mean for you to hear that."

She returns his smile and steps forward to stroke his cheek. "And that's why _I_ married _you_."

He feels a pleasant tingling sensation travel from his forehead to his toes, and leans down to plant a single kiss on her neck. "Go find something to wear, I'll meet you back here."

"You just want me out of the console room so I won't turn the brakes off when you land."

He winks. "Guilty as charged."

She rolls her eyes and heads down a side corridor to her room to find something suitable to wear.

And as he watches her turn the corner, he wonders what wonderful, amazing thing he could have possibly done to deserve this.

**A/N: Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I really do believe that nothing happened between the Doctor and Mata Hari. His expression is more of surprised/nonplussed than anything else, and it just seems out of character for an incarnation of the Doctor who, most of the time, isn't really a sexual being to sleep with someone he doesn't know. And his "what an interesting woman" doesn't seem to have a particularly sexual inflection to it. It sounds more matter-of-fact, with maybe a hint of laughter thrown in. Maybe I'm overanalyzing this far too much. But this plot wouldn't leave me alone and I had to get this out of my system, which is why I'm posting fanfiction when I should be sleeping.**


End file.
